


what he didn't want

by transsolas (wolfmaws)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 00:51:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4284369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfmaws/pseuds/transsolas





	what he didn't want

He touches your hand differently every time.

The first is tentative. Soft fingertips graze over the top of your hand. It’s a question, waiting and wanting. Solas’ eyes are as gentle as the touch itself. _M_ _ay I?_  he is asking, but you’re not sure if he’s asking you or himself.

You smile and nod, finding words difficult, and he responds with a smile of his own. It’s unlike any you’ve seen. This one crinkles the skin around his eyes, but somehow makes him look younger.

Your fingers interlace and you feel as if something’s changed between you.

The second is your doing. It’s playful and teasing, your hand gripping onto his as you drag him out into the garden. He’s voicing his displeasure - _I'_ _m glad you fit the Dalish stereotype -_ but there’s a fondness in his voice that only makes you grip onto his hand harder.

He sighs and you laugh and you  _swear_  you hear a chuckle behind you. It’s quiet, but warm, something that burrows in your chest and makes your stomach flip.

You turn on your heel and startle him, taking both of his hands now, gripping them with your own. You step in close, sliding your fingers into his, ignoring the way the humans stare and the elves giggle.

His ears turn pink and you declare your victory.

The third isn’t so much holding hands as it is touching fingers. He joins you in your quarters to share company, both of you seated in front of the fire in comfortable chairs.

You’re unsure what he’s studying, and you don’t intend to interrupt, but he’s the one who reaches his hand out. He looks at you, eyebrows raised, and you meet him half way.

Hours are lost in text and in the new calluses you find on his fingers.

There are dozens of times in between that you cherish, but the last time is what you hold close to your heart when the loneliness settles in.

It wasn’t as you walked into the grove, though that was close. That gesture was… sweet. innocent. You remember bumping against his shoulder playfully, unaware of what awaited you.

The last time was as he walks away, shoulders slumping, face drawn. He is devastated and so are you. He clings to your hand until the very last moment, leaving yours dangling in the air, eventually falling to your side quietly.

You’re hurt. You feel tears burn.

But the most painful thing of all was how badly he didn’t want to let go.


End file.
